


Teach These Wings to Fly

by cafe_au_late, LinaLuthor, reference_lesbrarian, Sephirron, writingwithmolls



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, First Dates, Fluff, Pilots, non-binary ingrid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafe_au_late/pseuds/cafe_au_late, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinaLuthor/pseuds/LinaLuthor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/reference_lesbrarian/pseuds/reference_lesbrarian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephirron/pseuds/Sephirron, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingwithmolls/pseuds/writingwithmolls
Summary: Ingrid is still getting used to living how they want to live—whether it’s pronouns, how they dress, or who they surround themself with. Life as a pilot isn’t easy, but their life changes for the better when they meet Mercedes: a gust of warm air to protect them from the cold winter.orFour times Mercedes helped Ingrid define who they were and one time they were able to stand their ground.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Teach These Wings to Fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuro_Ko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuro_Ko/gifts).



Ingrid always had a fear of not being able to recognize someone based only on their picture.

It was a silly sentiment, they assumed. It wasn’t like they had ever seen anyone as beautiful as the date that they were meeting—no one with the same bright eyes or gentle smile. Her picture stood out as they were flipping through profiles, the warmth that beckoned to them through the screen. Perhaps Ingrid didn’t believe that one could find a soulmate through a dating app—they had never even hoped that one of the dates would ever swipe on them as well—but they nearly prayed that this would be a match.

The match came early the next morning—Ingrid later learned that she worked early shifts at the hospital. She also liked sweets, quiet nights in, and was a lesbian who moved to the city when she was small. And, she would be impossible to miss based on her profile picture, so Ingrid would have to tell their brain to stop running scenarios based in fiction.

It was a particularly sunny day between plenty of overcast ones that had made Fhirdiad much gloomier than it usually was during spring. The sky was painted with blues that they had loved and admired ever since they were a kid, the flimsy whites of a few clouds mere sketches on the big canvas that surrounded the city, a background to the tall buildings and smaller houses that were equally present in that area, to the trees in bloom that added more color to the palette.

It was Sunday and the streets weren’t necessarily crowded, the square in front of them buzzing with sound and activity from families, friends, and lovers hanging out—preparing before the week could start anew and the rush of days and schedules could overtake them. Adults leaned against the marble statue of King Dimitri who stood tall in the center of the plaza. They talked in hushed tones or almost yells, laughing at something or another in intervals. Sometimes they touched: a shoulder brush, a hand squeeze, a kiss here and there. They were people coming together to celebrate their love and affection in the open.

Kids darted from one side of the square to the other, making bets and giggling at the grownups who seemed too strict, too chained to things they couldn’t understand. Ingrid sighed watching them, seeing themself in the little ones but also reflected in the adults. It was good to taste the freedom of simply being who they were. To laugh and jump, scream and run until there was no tomorrow because nothing else mattered.

They glanced up to the sky and smiled, because there was something inside of Ingrid that longed for that stretch of blue to be their home. They had dreamed of it even before they could understand what it was that they wanted: the rush of wind on their face was a solace whenever it was too warm in summer, but it also pushed them forward to enjoy the sunlight they deserved. The chillier autumn breeze ushered in longer nights, winter’s cold gale almost forced them to spend more time indoors with their parents. But then spring would come again—as it had that year—and with the wind’s soft caress and the petals in bloom there would be hope once more.

There would be hope, as there was on that day, and Ingrid wouldn’t have to hide who they were for the sake of others.

It was natural for them to be nervous because they were waiting not for a friend, not for a family member to join them in the plaza, but for a date with a very beautiful woman they had met online. It had taken a lot of coaxing from Edelgard and Dorothea for them to actually install Fadoo, then another threat from Sylvain about their friendship being terminated if they didn’t actively use it. They were not one to spend time on social media, especially dating apps, and it was difficult to even find a recent picture for their profile.

Not that Ingrid could complain about it any longer—they  _ had _ scored a date with someone who seemed kind, respectful, and very, very witty over chat, but it was something else to actually meet that person.

How many times had people seemed  _ lovely _ until their identity was brought up?

Ingrid winced while thinking about it, about how much of a “burden” it seemed to be for the people around them. They had known that having their family refer to them by other pronouns would be disappointing, but then again their parents didn’t know and would never accept anything other than what they had been calling Ingrid since the day they were born. It was difficult to enact change on people who were too stubborn to budge. Being addressed by such at work, however, was worse because their coworkers hadn’t known Ingrid prior.

Their workplace would prioritize men over everyone else and Ingrid would need to prove themself tenfold or even more if they wanted to be respected—much less follow their dreams. There would be laughter and jabs just because the big shots thought it was expected. Thus they had hidden their identity behind the clouds they loved so much, the clouds that raced beneath them once they were high enough to leave those jerks behind, to bask in the sun or moonlight that whispered them secrets and kept them company in the otherwise lonely airplane.

Yes, it was the spring that had brought them hope once more, just as it had so many times in the past. And it would be silly to believe that they wouldn’t be able to spot the pretty woman in the plaza—

“Ingrid?” a voice called their attention, standing tall in front of them, cautious as if unsure. “I’m really glad to see you in person.”

Any remainder of doubt that she was beautiful dissolved in an instant. Her eyes were even more blue in person and her blonde hair sat nicely over her shoulder. She had a simple white shirt underneath a long, beige coat, and a black pencil skirt that ended a little underneath her knees with black stockings to go with it.

She was the promise of spring in an outfit that was simple, yet vibrant and encapsulated her entire demeanor.

Ingrid did their best to straighten their posture, cursing themself for not recognizing that their date had wandered into the plaza—much less approached them undetected. They attempted to regain their composure.

“H-hello,” they said, a wonderful start. Her hair was tied with a ribbon, dainty and careful. “Thank you for finding the time, Mercedes.”

“Likewise,” Mercedes said, chuckling as Ingrid pushed off the wall they were standing against in a movement that was a bit too fast. If she had noticed that Ingrid was nervous—it was easy for themself to tell, they had both of their hands laced together in front of them—she didn’t say anything. Usually their emotions in general were often veiled, kept hidden behind the blank slate of their expression and a mist in their eyes—they would never hear the end of it if they were caught showing anything that could be seen as weakness during work hours and even at home such oversights could be perceived as something else by their family. “It’s busy for lunch, but you had made a reservation you said?”

Ingrid’s gaze followed hers to the other side of the wide street where there was a white and pink brick store that sold clothing and a beautiful cherry tree blooming beside it. The restaurant that Ingrid had recommended was right next door—a building of dark stone that served food from Duscar. Mercedes had mentioned once or twice that she liked their food and Ingrid was quick to point out that this restaurant happened to be the best in the city. Even from the other side of the street they could see a small crowd of people waiting for seats through the front windows.

“The reservation was easy,” Ingrid said. “My friend Ashe works here, so he put us down the second he had an opening.”

“How funny, I have a friend who works here as well.” When she beamed in delight, Ingrid’s shoulders relaxed and their own lips bloomed into a smile as well. She moved her purse to her other shoulder and Ingrid wondered if they should have offered to drive her. Was that acceptable on a first date? They had no clue. “I couldn’t wait to get to know you personally. Don’t get me wrong, dating apps are great, but there’s nothing better than actually seeing the person you're talking to.”

Mercedes’s eyes glanced all over Ingrid as she said the words, taking in their simple, loose, buttoned-up shirt and the black pants that went with it. Ingrid winced and hoped that there were no wrinkles.

“Shall we go?” Mercedes asked. The shy spring breeze seemed to usher them towards their destination once they smiled at one another and decided to move.

They walked side by side, waiting for the light to turn green as the cars cruised past them at a leisurely pace. It took a few seconds for Ingrid to follow Mercedes after the walk sign had lit up—Ingrid needing to rush a bit after her since they had been so enthralled that the action of  _ walking _ had been forgotten.

The scent of spices embraced them, Duscar cuisine known for not straying away from flavors much unlike the somewhat bland taste of Faerghus’s dishes. Ingrid was still kicking themself for being awkward as they went up to the hostess, asking for their reservation. The restaurant was busy, but still kept a quiet atmosphere that Ingrid had sought it out for. It meant that they would be able to hear more of Mercedes’s voice over the buzz of the crowd, which was a win for them. Her voice was something spectacular. They had mentioned it to their friend after they had gotten off of the phone—how her voice seemed to make each word gentle and exciting all the same—and Dorothea had just laughed. Hard.

They were whipped, she had said, but Ingrid wasn’t ready to admit it just yet.

Mercedes and Ingrid took a seat by the window overlooking the sidewalk. They glanced out to watch the movement on the streets for some seconds, more than aware of the fact that their companion was keeping her eyes on them instead. The window sills were lined with plants in gorgeous pots. Ingrid never knew how they took care of so many plants on top of serving some of the best dishes in all of Fhirdiad, but they learned not to question it. Ashe had just shrugged when they asked and said that his boyfriend and one of the new waiters—a nervous person named Bernie—both loved to take care of the mini greenhouse that they were running.

Mercedes looked at home by the window, picking up the menu once it was placed in front of her. Ingrid suddenly realized that they were hungrier than they thought. Much of their immediate concerns and initial worries about Mercedes were beginning to fade, her presence too warm to possibly pose a threat. Without being disguised by the phone, her voice was soft—gentle like the afternoon they were sharing. A piece of her hair fell out of its tie and Ingrid wanted nothing more than to push it back behind her ear. The woman wore her long hair so much nicer than themself. Ingrid had just strangled it back into a braid again that morning, hoping that it wouldn’t be seen as messy by their date.

“The menu is really good here,” Ingrid said after the moment became too awkward and nothing was spoken, their heart fluttering in their chest at the realization that they were actually on a date.

“I always want to turn right to the desserts,” Mercedes said, lingering on them before flipping back to the lunch menu. “Judging by our conversation, you have quite the appetite. Should we get an appetizer, then?”

Ingrid blushed, fully aware that they must have listed about half the restaurants in the city in an anxious ramble when Mercedes had called them out of the blue. They had expected a text and nearly threw the phone when it had started ringing instead.

“An appetizer would be nice,” Ingrid said, smiling to Mercedes. They could relax, couldn’t they? A waiter took their drink orders and the appetizer, but they waited to order the main entree. Ingrid liked that about Mercedes, how even though she was always busy she never seemed to be in a rush.

At that moment they envied the apparent calm that washed over her face, the small, pleasant smile on her lips. Although Ingrid tried keeping a similar demeanor, stopping their fingers from fidgeting with the napkin or the cutlery and resting their eyes on the woman in front of them instead of anywhere else in the restaurant, it was tough to maintain that composure for too long.

Not even their years of training as a pilot were being helpful right there and then, when Mercedes’s periwinkle irises landed on their emerald ones and stood there before fluttering the slightest bit away.

They were used to being the person who would glance away, who remained in silence for longer than it was socially acceptable and who eventually made it so all so strange that their date would either grow bored way too soon or would start asking too many questions—some of which they didn’t really want to answer that soon.

They had a second to wonder if that would be the case, if Mercedes’s beam would fade into a grimace and if the warmth in her eyes would turn into chilly, unwelcome winds. If the words that had sounded so respectful and kind before would become questions Ingrid didn’t really have an answer to. 

Then their appetizers arrived and maybe the mere presence of food was enough to break the mood, the silence that had settled around them, and their quiet changed to smiles.

It was easy then to start talking about the food, then a little bit about the dishes they would get from the menu even though Mercedes was keen to tell the waiter they would order in a few. That surprised Ingrid in a good way and comforted them even though their shoulders were still tense. It was the first time someone hadn’t rushed in with food or overwhelming conversation after finding out they were prone to being quiet in that way. Rather, it was easier to relax once the woman began talking about everything and nothing, about the city, their lives and some cooking.

Mercedes took a bite of her own food and the mundane act encouraged them to relax and smile, to bite into the food as well and enjoy the moment instead of lingering on all that had hurt them over the years. The woman in front of them was respectful, a safe haven. To be offered such things after being denied them for so long was a breath of fresh air after running for too long, after flying so high trying to run from the world only to be met with the same issues while above the clouds.

While having nothing but their own mind, the sun or the moon with her stars as companions to their grief and wondering.

“Do you enjoy baking as well?” Ingrid asked, watching as Mercedes continued to glance longingly at the dessert menu. They loosened up, more than willing to stir the conversation instead of stewing in their nerves or letting their mind take control and make the moment any less sweet than it should be.

After all, there they were—Ingrid Brandl Galatea—going on a date with a beautiful woman after swearing off love for a good portion of their life because of people who wouldn’t make the effort to understand them. They had focused so long on proving themself, on making sure others knew who they were in a career that hadn’t been easy, but had always been their dream. Love had been a mere afterthought for when they were done studying and had graduated—for when they were up in the sky and flying would become even more of a constant in their life than walking ever had been.

They always had their head in the clouds, anyways, as their parents and friends would often say.

Ingrid chuckled at Mercedes’s stories about cooking amazing things for friends and family, of mishaps and sometimes forgetting her own purse at home while going to the supermarket. Everything about Mercedes was interesting and nice, endearing and lovely in a way that Ingrid was positive they had never felt before. Her voice was melodious and kind, falling softly over the table through the buzz of the other patrons.

No matter how sweet the woman had already been to them, Ingrid almost recoiled in their chair when Mercedes squealed the second she heard what their occupation was.

“You… are a pilot? Like a real, airplane pilot?” Her eyes widened even more when Ingrid nodded, mentally cursing themself for the fact that they could feel their cheeks burning. “Wow, I just… you’re so amazing, Ingrid. I can’t even fathom how… so tell me. How does one become a pilot? Like what did you specifically do?”

Emerald eyes fluttered away towards the tables near them, towards guests being served their meals. They could see the skyline from the window beside them, the city and the square they had left behind. Everywhere but at Mercedes, though they could sense her expression changing and the smile faltering on her lips before blooming into something new, something softer and light.

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, I was just curious. It’s such a different, incredible career and all, so yeah—”

“Don’t worry, you’re fine,” Ingrid retorted at last, her words soothing their erratic heartbeat and making them realize that maybe this was a different situation. That maybe they weren’t about to be judged and undermined. Mercedes  _ did _ look interested and her little squeal of delight had been too adorable. “Well, I have a degree in Aerospace Engineering, but that doesn’t, hm, matter as much. You see, pilots need to have a Bachelor’s, but it can be in whatever area they choose. I just went for that because it was the closest to flying that I could ever get.”

Mercedes nodded, hands folded beside her plate. All of her attention was on the person in front of her, on the way their eyes were hooded and hedging, trying to fight against a mist that was too well-known. Against the instinct to hide, to change subjects or wonder if they could talk about that on some other day, dodging the issues that were too close to their heart.

The woman didn’t prod or say anything else, patiently waiting for them to feel comfortable enough to talk and tell their story. Her gaze was gentle and kind, the beam on her lips equally as soft. Everything about that situation—the setting and the warmth that surrounded them—was enough to make them slowly loosen up, gradually allowing the truth to come out.

“It was really good, no matter how difficult some people think it is,” Ingrid went on, lips set in a thin line once they recalled those long-lost days as an undergrad. “Especially if you’re, hm… not a man in a man-centric field, you know? There’s plenty of people who aren’t open to change and it shows when you start training alongside them. They… don’t think you belong there.”

“It must have been something and I’m sorry you had to go through that. But hey, you  _ did _ graduate and got a job in your area! You really showed them who the weak, stupid person was, didn’t you?”

Ingrid laughed lightly at that declaration. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s just stupid that stuff like that happens frequently, but, anyways—the most important part of the entire process is getting a pilot’s license, which is easier said than done of course.”

Mercedes looked like she was about to further question Ingrid when someone approached their table.

There was a new waiter this time, a young man who came equipped with a notepad and smile. Without a second thought, he said, “Hello there. What can I get you ladies?”

A silence filled the space between his words and their answer. Ingrid looked away, cheeks burning, lips opening and closing as they wondered if it would be worth it to fish for a correction. They had been trained to deal with adversities and the smallest changes in weather, temperature, and pressure without a second thought or anything else that could hinder their ability to respond. That was part of their job, as important as the mechanics of it all—as important as the lives that were in their hands for that amount of time they were suspended in the air. If Ingrid was to get caught up in every little moment where someone labeled them, their entire day would be stalled constantly.

The last time they had spoken up hadn’t been the last that they were misgendered—but it was with Mercedes. She had called them a girl and Ingrid had brought up the issue. It wasn’t her fault—the app didn’t allow for emphasis on their gender—but it made Ingrid bite their tongue. They mentioned their pronouns and the gendered terms they were  _ okay _ being called, before vanishing for hours in order not to face her reply, too nervous at the prospect of being rejected after the initial conversations had been so engaging. It was all a little  _ too _ perfect.

When they had eventually returned to read the messages, it was one of acceptance and a gentle apology for assuming their gender. Ingrid beamed and continued the conversation, one that flowed a lot easier once they no longer needed to hold their breath.

If Ingrid thought that had been all, that Mercedes wouldn’t be able to surprise them anymore, then they were proven completely wrong in the second following the waiter’s words, the woman laughing nervously and shaking her head.

“Excuse me, we would prefer if you did not refer to us as ‘ladies.’” The smile on her lips and the words that left her mouth, albeit sweet, echoed an irritation that was impossible to miss and cut through the warm, cozy ambience like the sharpest blade, like the cold winds of winter that Ingrid loved dearly. “Actually, no gendering terms would be wonderful.”

The waiter was one to freeze under Mercedes’s steely scrutiny, the periwinkle eyes that were gentle while upon Ingrid turning into a snowstorm right then and there. Meanwhile Ingrid’s thoughts of just brushing it off and promising that it wasn’t a big deal froze solid in the ice. It  _ was _ a big deal, they supposed, even if they were misgendered on a daily basis at work and were used to blocking out the feminine terms.

One glance at the woman and they knew such a thing wouldn’t happen in her presence, not without Mercedes addressing it, anyways. Ingrid glanced at Mercedes with wide eyes, their mind unable to comprehend what was happening. Had the woman defended them from something that was a constant in their life? They had resigned themself to the fact that things wouldn’t change anytime soon.

“I’m very sorry,” the waiter said, nodding. “I will refrain from doing so in the future. Were you told about our current specials?”

They didn’t even notice that Mercedes had ordered for them, too busy being grateful that the moment hadn’t lingered. Most notable to them was the response it had brought upon their heart. It was beating fast, fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings in light while riding over the winds that would take them far across the world.

Would the same winds carry Ingrid to new places, a new life where it would be more than okay for them to be who they were without fear?

“I’m really sorry,” Mercedes whispered, the words bringing Ingrid back to the ground and reality at large. There was no wind to caress their cheeks right then, no spring breeze to whisper promises. Nevertheless there was hope in the woman’s eyes and concern in her expression, two elements that made their heart beat fast once more. “Was that okay? I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Oh no! No, it’s uh… it’s fine, truly. Though… thank you for saying something and not making a scene. It means a lot.”

Ingrid looked away to a bookshelf that lined one of the distant walls, too far away to make out the gilded titles that caught the light. Another ivy climbed its way to the ceiling and Ingrid wondered if it would reach all the way to the sun if given a chance. Perhaps with some help.

“You deserve respect and if nothing, I’m really proud of you for telling me. And yeah, I hope you know that does mean I won’t tolerate others misgendering you at all, okay? As long as it makes you comfortable and doesn’t put you in danger.” 

They lowered their eyes to the intricate lines etched on the dark wood of the table. Ingrid could do nothing more than nod and mumble another “thanks,” slowly unclenching their fists and running fingertips over the smooth surface in order to ground themself. They wanted to make sure they weren’t asleep and that it was true that someone they just met was kinder to them than most of the people who had been a part of their life for years.

The woman in front of them, who beamed once their eyes lifted from the grain and met her soft blue ones, wouldn’t vanish once spring had been replaced with the chill of autumn.

“So,” Mercedes called back their wandering attention, “you were saying about getting a pilot’s license?”

Ingrid wasn’t expecting for her to bring the topic back into focus. Usually no one was the slightest bit interested in the specifics when it came to training, studying, and all the long hours of flight one was expected to have before being able to get the certification. As the woman questioned them about the preparation process and how they had dealt with it—the tribulations of the classes and if they had ever thought about quitting—Ingrid found that the conversation allowed their mind to land and enjoy safe, stable grounds.

“I mean, I think it’s really inspiring that you stood through it all even after your professors told you your career path would be tough because you weren’t a man.” Mercedes shook her head at the last part, sighing. “I mean, how old were you back then? You have to be eighteen to start taking classes, right?”

Ingrid flinched at the words, surely unintentional. “Actually no, you can start at sixteen in Faerghus… though I think in Adrestia you can take theory classes at fifteen or even fourteen, just not the practical ones,” Ingrid said, shoulders unclenching once they returned to facts instead of talking about their own life. The second part of Mercedes’s question couldn’t be ignored, however—the past couldn’t be hidden or masked and at the end of the day they  _ had _ survived it all. “But yeah, I was eighteen when I started.”

Seconds passed in respectful silence as they continued to pick at the appetizer and sip their drinks. Ingrid was nervous, but there were no rules to be followed or decorum to be observed right then and there, just two human beings and souls that were getting to know each other better—and it could certainly be a messy thing at times.

"My, uh—my family has opposed me becoming a pilot since the second I voiced the idea.” Ingrid’s words wavered in the beginning, then settled on an almost whispery tone that spoke loudly about the pain that their admittance had attempted to hide behind. “Yeah, it was okay when I was small and I even had little airplane toys and models, but only when I wasn’t able to be serious about the passion. When the idea persisted and they saw me researching stuff about planes and physics and everything in between when I was twelve or so, well…”

“It wasn’t good anymore?” she offered when they were at a loss for words, their gaze dancing around the room once more.

“It wasn’t good anymore,” Ingrid picked up Mercedes’s words, “and I should stop being foolish. I should focus on learning how to cook and clean and care for children since one day I would have some of my own and be chained to my house.” Although they rolled their eyes in annoyance at the entire concept, the pain behind it was likely plain to see.

They both took time fathering words, fathering feelings and thoughts that were scattered between them, blown by winds that hadn’t always been kind. The dreams that had been derailed instead of supported, torn down instead of uplifted. Yet when Mercedes spoke, her voice was light and warm, a loving gust that would help with flight.

“I’m really thankful that you shared this with me, Ingrid. It takes courage to speak about painful memories, especially since people think dates should be all fun and showing off or something. I hope you know that wouldn’t work with me, anyways; I’d rather see  _ you  _ than a bunch of things meant to impress me.” She paused. “I don’t think any less of you now than when we were talking about you being a pilot either, okay? You’re incredible in my book, I just get to add that you’re also strong and determined as hell.”

Ingrid’s mouth hung agape and their blush worsened at her words. It was no wonder that by the time many plates of food had passed their table and left empty that Ingrid didn’t want the afternoon (that had since given way to night) to end. They were ecstatic when over a plentiful dessert Mercedes asked if she could see them again.

Ingrid wouldn’t be able to say no if they tried.

* * *

It hadn’t taken long for Ingrid to learn that Mercedes’s giving nature meant they would be getting plenty of little presents along the way.

That specific gift, however, came out of nowhere, though Mercedes had hinted at the fact that maybe she would be getting them something that wasn’t a nice dessert, some wine or a trinket—a small thing they could keep around in order to remind themself of her wherever they went.

They had imagined what it could be, but Mercedes had continued to surprise them. Maybe a book, since they had been discussing favorites a few days ago? Or perhaps it would be a stroll around her neighborhood, a movie night, an invitation to her home. Those would be good enough surprises for Ingrid—spending time with the woman was enough to lift their days, a gust of gentle winds blowing away whatever lingering haze of bad thoughts that might have gripped them.

As much as they had anticipated what it was that the woman hinted at for almost a week, the last thing Ingrid imagined they would get was a bright blue package that was soft to the touch, wrapped in a silver ribbon that wasn’t too shiny. Though what they loved the most about it was the little airplane sticker that Mercedes had placed over the lace, an afterthought that made them carefully maneuver around the ribbon in order to not tear it in their eagerness to open the gift. 

This time they had decided to meet at a shopping mall instead, the biggest one in Fhirdiad and pretty much all of Faerghus (though nothing was as good as the malls they had in Enbarr or so Dorothea had told them one too many times). It was a Saturday and a rare day off for Ingrid, but then they had been working overtime for the last few weeks and even ended up getting dismissed from service on that particular weekend before their boss was charged with letting them overwork.

That had always been a staple in their career, perhaps an unconscious reaction to the fact that their professors had always emphasized how much more they would have to do in order to prove their worth—and there was always the risk they would end up retiring without making it a reality as well. As a result, Ingrid would always frown and shake their head whenever someone asked if they thought they were overdoing it, or if they missed having some time off in order to enjoy the land as much as they did the sky.

The fact that being in the sky meant being away from many people and things that had hurt them over and over wasn’t something most of them understood, even less than they did the whole “having to prove oneself” thing that was such a staple for anyone who wanted to pilot and hadn’t been born a man. 

Mercedes was proving to be the exception to the rule even then, when she had cherished the fact that Ingrid would have some free time after all and that, if they were feeling up to it, she would love taking them on a stroll around the shopping mall of all places. Though they wondered if she could feel their awkwardness at that location, one they had visited with parents and usually after services, which had made everything even worse of an experience for them.

Few spared them a glance, which was good since Ingrid had had no idea what to wear for that date and they were sure they looked awkward with a frilly yellow shirt and faded blue jeans, the long braid hanging over their shoulder this time in a silly attempt to mimic the way Mercedes stylishly wore her own hair, though this day it was stuck in a high ponytail instead, a few loose strands framing her face in blonde curlicules. It went well with her outfit, a blue dress that ended above her knee and had little flower details around the sleeves and neckline. 

She looked so comfortable in those clothes it was tough not to stare, not to smile and wonder how she did it, how she pulled off a look that Ingrid themself had loathed through so many years of their life.

How they could now admire another but loathe it so much whenever social standards and people in general had forced them to wear something similar.

“Please do open it Ingrid, I can’t wait to see your reaction.” Mercedes almost squealed; she had been looking at them and the gift in their hands for long, trying her best not to fidget and show that she was growing impatient. 

Her words were enough to make Ingrid wake up from whatever reverie they had been in, cheeks flushing a little. The amused smile on her lips was already more than anything she could say to them or any gifts she could give them. It became wider when Ingrid’s hands worked around the little airplane sticker and eventually the wrapping was placed on their left, at the stretch of wooden bench that wasn’t occupied.

They gasped in surprise once they saw what had been hidden within the packaging, upending the piece of clothing and admiring it with wide eyes that shone not under the cozy yellow lights of the mall, but with a light of their own that made the emerald stand out against the entire scene. 

“M-Mercie, you shouldn’t have,” Ingrid mumbled, turning the black pants this way and that, watching the golden metal pins engraved in its sides glimmer.

By size alone they knew it would fit very differently than whatever garment their parents got them for Christmas, birthday celebrations and the likes. It wouldn’t hug their body tightly and its design wasn’t made to draw attention to legs, waist or anything of the sorts. It would hang loosely around them, offering comfort instead of annoyance at how fabric was clinging to them all the time. 

It was how others expected them to wear pants because that was considered beautiful and acceptable in some way. 

Ingrid had no words to reply, to say how much that meant to them and how it was completely not what they had thought Mercedes was teasing them with for an entire week through messages and the occasional phone calls. They couldn’t stop staring, comparing the uncomfortable jeans they were wearing right then to the smooth fabric in their hands, imagining how they would look like while wearing something that they had chosen and liked.

The two had spoken about clothing a few days ago, how their parents had always been so keen on not only commenting, but pretty much deciding whatever they were going to wear until they were too old to be used as a dress-up doll. As a result Ingrid themself wasn’t really sure of what type of outfit they would like to wear—though surely it was nothing like the dresses, skirts and frilly t-shirts that they had worn then, some of which still made their way into their recent wardrobe, too.

Since most of their days were spent up in the air as a pilot, that did mean they were supposed to wear a uniform all the time. There was no worry about what to wear for work then and even less for out of work hours since those were scarce and few in between. So those recent dates with Mercedes had made them think a little more about that issue and what it meant, that their clothes didn’t seem to be a reflection of themself.

That even their clothes still echoed a past they would rather forget, days in which others had sought to define them by their own standards and traditions.

“Do you like it, Ingrid? I think it’ll suit you nicely!” Mercedes cooed, smiling at some memory or the other.

“I… I love this,” they whispered in an almost reverent tone, beaming in a way they hadn’t in days. It wasn’t lost on them that it was becoming a more common occurrence in their life, and the sketch of this pure smile would grace their face when they talked. “Thank you so much Mercie, you’re the best.”

It was a lie if Ingrid said they recalled the last time they had beamed that much, that their entire self had been filled with so much joy it was as if the sun they flew so close to was in their heart. It was also a lie if Ingrid said they had meant to hug Mercedes that long and hard, pulling the woman closer to them for a warm embrace.

An embrace that was complemented with a slow, gentle kiss to the lips. 

“Heh, it’s nothing but I’m really glad you enjoyed it.” They pulled away from each other, still glowing due to the tender moment. Ingrid would never grow sick of that new development in their relationship—kissing one another in a way that felt natural and didn’t give rise to nervous butterflies in their stomach. There was a strange look on Mercedes’s face right then, one that became even more visible once she extended them a hand, a small glitter in her eyes. “Are you ready to go?”

Ingrid looked a bit uncomfortable right then and had been feeling so ever since they had stepped into the shopping mall. Maybe it was the place, the several stores lined up with beautiful displays and artificial lights, the low ceiling and lack of a view from the sky that they loved so much, the sky they belonged to in a sense. 

Maybe it was the crowd that pressed together in clusters of friends and family, in couples and dates, the myriad voices mingling into a lull which was broken by occasional cheers and loud laughs, a contrast to the silence they were used to.

Nevertheless Mercedes had called them to a date and they would follow—it wasn’t that much of a stretch and would it really kill them to be more social? To go where she wanted to as well?

Even so, it was a delight to see the skyline once more when Mercedes pulled them not towards the stores lines on each side of the shopping mall, but to the entrance itself, the sliding doors offering a path to a beautiful Saturday afternoon in Fhirdiad, the vast blue sky stretching over their head and reminding them of the freedom they found in the air.

Looking back at the few days Ingrid had spent on the ground, it was easy to understand why they longed and craved for it, for the company of the stars above the clouds, of the sun and moon shining ahead instead of the doubts and judgement, the nasty comments and prying eyes that had followed them on the surface.

“Hm, where  _ are _ we going, Mercie? I thought it was the mall…” Their words trailed once they saw how beautiful the weather was, a part of them wondering what it would be like to get some small plane or another and lose themself in it. 

A glance to the side and they were lost in Mercedes’s periwinkle irises, just as welcoming and freeing as the sky itself even though they were amidst the constraints of the earth. 

Everything about the woman beside them was a breath of fresh air, the acceptance and the love that they had never thought they would find in the world, in other people’s hearts and the words that would follow them around. Mercedes was all of it and more, more than they had ever thought they would get in a partner.

Distracted by such thoughts, by the passing wind and the rushing clouds in the sky, Ingrid took a moment to realize that not only their question had gone unanswered, but that they were being led downtown, to streets they had been to with their parents many years ago.

At first Ingrid gasped, wondering if seeing the familiar stores and streets that had haunted them back then would make something snap within them, some unwanted reaction coming back to the surface and harming the bubble the two of them had built around themselves. There was a reason why they avoided that part of Fhirdiad, why they sidestepped those long avenues and would rather take parallel routes if there was anything that needed to be done around those parts.

However no such thing happened, and Mercedes’s presence was soothing and grounding, once again showing them a present that was way better than the past, way better than their rage over the hassle of buying clothing.

Their tension must have been visible, since Mercedes took their hand in hers and caressed it with gentle touches until their shoulders relaxed and their lips opened in a new, shy smile. It accompanied them until the woman veered right and their eyes fell upon a store they had been to one too many times before. 

Góodlan loomed over the two, its stone tiles glittering in different colors as sunlight fell over it. The name of the store was printed in bold blue letters, standing over the sliding glass doors that Mercedes pushed Ingrid through after a moment’s hesitation, a slight tilt of the head and a glance to make sure they were ok. That pushing them in would be a help and not a burden, above all else an act of care and love.

Although their emerald eyes had been clouded for the first few seconds that they stood there, glancing at the lines and lines of clothes racks that were placed so close together there was almost no space for people to walk through, gradually they cleared and shone at the possibilities that opened up in front of them. 

For the first time in their life there would be no one to tell them how to dress, what to get and what was appropriate for them to buy in order to attract a husband.

“I know this isn’t your usual fancy shop and all,” Mercedes whispered as they both took their first step towards a rack, one that had several pants in different styles, colors and sizes, “but I love coming here and just browsing through stuff. You can’t believe the amount of clothing I’ve gotten from this place already and the fact that it also helps people in need is always a plus.”

“Yeah, that it is.” Ingrid nodded, carefully pushing aside a piece from the rest and pretending to examine it. They barely saw the item in front of them though, conflicting emotions coming together. In doing so they left behind a web of thoughts, of memories that tried to resurface but failed altogether. “I used to come here with my parents, too.”

The confession made Mercedes’s eyes widen, then fall into a much gentler look and beam as if to placate. After a light squeeze the woman let go of their hand and Ingrid turned to look at her, placing the pants they hadn’t really liked back on the racks. 

But then it would be tough for them to actually feel connected to any of those pieces—apparently they had walked right into a rack on what was considered the women’s section of the store. Their eyes fell on the round black letters which were taped to the white walls, a hand coiling in their chest at the sight—and at the other one on the opposite side of the room that seemed to offer an alternative even when things such as clothes shouldn’t be seen in such distinct, polar dichotomy to begin with.

As if catching their thought Mercedes scoffed, shook her head and cast her gaze to the other racks, between what was being offered there and the section they had walked to on instinct. “That’s so silly isn’t it? Clothing should be clothing and that’s all. I completely adore flannel shirts but oh my, I’ve lost count of how many times someone asked me why I wasn’t shopping on “my side” of the store. It’s insane.”

Somehow those words made Ingrid relax the slightest—it was the first time their concern and awkwardness over that particular subject had been taken seriously. They had had enough of people saying it was to be expected, that they should get over it, get over themself. Their parents hadn’t even allowed them to step closer to looser jeans, flannel shirts—anything that defied a stereotype that they didn’t have the will to fulfill.

Even so, it was slow business at first, with Mercedes hanging close to Ingrid and trying her best to gauge which pieces might appeal to them amidst the vast selection within Góodlan. They made a deal not to look at whatever section they were in, simply to browse and grab what looked interesting, what might fit and go well with what they already had. 

Yet eventually their rigid steps, their wandering gaze and stiff demeanor ebbed away, grey and dark clouds that were gently pushed aside by a persistent, loving wind. They beamed once more when their hands fell around a buttoned-up black shirt with a few golden details here and there. It looked like it would go perfectly with the pants that Mercedes had given them earlier, so they beamed even wider while adding it to the growing pile in their hands.

And so they meandered through the store, their leisurely steps leaving behind the frantic, impatient dashes the child had done in order to will away time and boredom. The angry stomping that had almost followed the teenager around as an echo of their thoughts while parents dictated what they should wear, how they should wear it and how incredible they would look with those clothes on. How it would be almost a given they would get a husband dressed like that.

With the gentleness of a breeze tugging at their hand, Ingrid left behind the past that had haunted their dreams and waking hours, that had made them hate buying clothes or even going into stores to begin with. 

Ingrid had no idea for how long that had been going on, or how long it was until they eventually left Góodlan with one too many plastic bags filled to the brim. Now that was a new sight, as much a novelty as the lightness in their chest after leaving a clothing store. The warmth filled them and was shown in their grateful beam, echoed in Mercedes’s entire expression. 

The pride in her eyes was enticing and supportive, cradling the freedom which at that moment was Ingrid. Ingrid, the person with narrowed eyes and a set mouth when focused.

Ingrid, the person with a broad spirit that longed for the vast, unchained skies as much as it did for reassurance and certainty.

Ingrid, the person who had defied it all, and would likely continue to do so until the outcome was one in which they were perceived. Until the world or at least the pocket of the world and reality around them were ones in which they were perceived and would be themself without fear.

It would be a slow process, Ingrid knew, but one that they wouldn’t give up no matter what. 

It might just have been that they would need some help along the way, too.

“Hey Mercie? Would you like to come look at the clothes at home? My wardrobe is full of things I don’t really want to keep anymore and hm… I just thought it might be good to… have some company for it.” Their voice faltered due to the lovely, surprised beam Mercedes was giving them as that sentence went on.

That was how they ended up in Ingrid’s room some ten minutes later, the woman happily watching from her place on the bed, feet digging into the plush, cream-colored carpet, hands running over the blue comforter. Her eyes were intent on the light wooden closet in front of her—or rather, on Ingrid going through drawers and hangers, throwing things to the floor and eventually sending one or the other Mercedes’s way.

She would giggle and catch the discarded article, the one that apparently would look great on her. Most of the times such a read would be correct; such items were usually skirts, tight-fitting blouses or frilly things with lace. Mercedes could see herself wearing many, if not all of them. 

The same couldn’t be said of her Ingrid, who told her about how most of their clothes had been chosen by others, with the sole objective of wooing a future partner or something of the sorts.

It was the first time Ingrid had spoken that clearly about that situation, about their past and some of the shackles that had tried keeping them chained to ideals which had never been their own. Some tales were accompanied by a skirt, a chaste, lacy blouse, a frilly, bright pink dress that were worn to religious rites, to weddings, to first dates that had been arranged.

Before, Ingrid had thought talking about these things would solve nothing. Words couldn’t erase the past, but allowing their thoughts to be laid in the open did end up easing their mind in a way that they had never experienced before. But then, how could that not happen when these memory fragments found acceptance and warmth in Mercedes’s arm? 

Once Ingrid sat down beside the woman and saw her scrutinizing all of the pieces that had been sent her way, a grateful and lulling emotion rose in their chest. It expanded as Mercie nodded, folded the shirt she had been pondering over and settled it to her right—the clothing on her left was going to Góodlan in order to help others in the same way they had been helped in that afternoon.

“Thanks for coming and listening to me, really,” Ingrid whispered, emerald irises settling and finding comfort in soft periwinkle ones. They didn’t think they had ever seen a color so beautiful in their life; the closest to it being the sky right when the sun was about to rise. 

How many times hadn’t Ingrid been in a plane when that had happened, when a new day unfurled itself to their very eyes and promised a breath of fresh air, changes and transformations just as the colors ebbed one into the other, the night of the past giving way to the present of the day 

The past of their fears and helplessness giving way to the present of their love, of their acceptance and growth.

“No, no, thank  _ you  _ for inviting me into your place and for giving me so many things that I can wear! The people at Góodlan will be pleased, too,” she added once she turned to look at the significantly taller pile of clothes to her left. Ingrid’s closet had been essentially emptied, only leaving essentials. It allowed for space to grow, unrestrained by false ideals that had plagued the last wardrobe.

“I hope they will, yeah.” Their heart panged in ache once they turned to glance at the clothes that surrounded Mercedes, the few ones that had been placed on the floor since they were too worn to be sent anywhere else. 

All of it was their past, a past they were leaving behind with a touch of periwinkle to guide them into the future that would come with the light and the warmth of the sun.

“And I’m proud of you for doing this, truly. Now not only will you have more than enough space for new clothes, but you’ll be able to get the ones that truly speak to you.” Mercedes edged forward, taking hold of their hands and squeezing them before drawing them close. 

Before closing the distance between their lips with a kiss that was light and warm, that was sweet and proud. That was love, and joy, and freedom such as the sky they adored.

* * *

The new place that Mercedes suggested wasn't far away from the square and the moment Ingrid saw it, they smiled at the sight of a wide, two-story building, the brick that made it barely visible around the glass window taking center stage beside the dark wooden door. The window itself was covered in different coloured fabrics, flags Ingrid realized as they drew closer. They were using the flags as curtains behind the series of tables next to the window.

Ingrid didn’t recognize all of the flags, but the little jolt of joy that they felt was enough to make the trip worth it already. Through the center of the windows, on full display, unabashed and unafraid, was the most beautiful collection of little queer flags and books that Ingrid had ever seen in their entire life. 

The little flags waved proudly at Ingrid in greeting, beckoning them in. 

Mercedes grinned at their expression, the wide eyes and delighted smile that were so enchanting and precious to look at, allowing them enough time to dissect that view as it was. Once they eventually turned back to her the woman motioned towards the circular stone steps that led to the door, heart singing in joy at that nice reception to the change. She took Ingrid’s hand and pulled them forward. Ingrid resisted at first, indicating that Mercedes should go first and they did the little awkward dance on the front steps together, each trying to let the other go.

In the end they went together, side by side until they got to the narrow door. Ingrid opened it and ushered Mercedes in with a grin, pleased that they got Mercedes to enter first in the end. The door closed behind them with a click and the faint jingle of a bell. Ingrid hummed to themself gently, pleased with the quaint atmosphere the coffee shop-bookshop hybrid was giving off. 

Huge windows lined the wall to their right, allowing sunlight to encircle all the different tables that were set out. Tables of different shapes and sizes, heights and materials, all spaced in an orderly fashion along the floor. The seats were of a similar style—completely inconsistent as well, ranging from plush armchairs, to cozy loveseats, to a few large round poufs.

The mismatched furniture only served to give it an even homier and more welcoming vibe. The store seemed to say that all the furniture were different in all their unique ways and they were welcome here—so Ingrid would be too. 

The light passing through the fabric of the flags bathed small sections of the seats in rainbows of different coloured light. There weren't many people there at that moment, some staring at their computers or phones in deep concentration, others talking to friends and loved ones in hushed voices that were colored with affection. A few stood near the balcony on the other end of the room, chatting and fidgeting while waiting for their orders to come. Queer flags also hung from the ceiling, adding more splashes of colour and coziness to the setting the longer that Ingrid stared at them. Their gaze was especially drawn towards the non-binary flag. 

That area was separated from the rest of the bookstore by a silver rail, the rest of the space on both first and second floors lined with shelves full of books in different colors, styles and sizes. People strolled leisurely between them, pointing at interesting titles and grabbing some books in order to better look at them, lingering around small, round platforms where bestsellers and the store's picks were on full display. 

To the left of it all was what Ingrid thought of as the event that Mercedes had mentioned over the phone, a few rectangular tables set alongside the long and wide windows. Each one of them displayed a variety of trinkets that Ingrid could barely make out from that distance, but looked like everything from necklaces, bracelets, enamel pins in the shape and colouring of different flags, origami pieces, little statues and so on. 

“Ingrid?” Mercedes asked, pulling them out of their thoughts. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you want something to drink?” Mercedes gestured at the very intricately drawn menu on a series of chalkboards above the counter. It must have taken someone ages to do all the lettering and swirling designs around the borders. 

Ingrid paused, taking in all the different drinks and food on the menu. For such a little coffee shop, there were quite a wide variety of choices. “What are you going to get?” they asked. It was almost overwhelming how many options there were.

“I think I’ll get a chocolate iced mocha,” Mercedes tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe with two pumps of chocolate syrup.” 

“Not three?” Ingrid asked in mock horror. “Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“Three is too much!” Mercedes laughed, swatting at Ingrid’s bicep. “What do you want to get?”

“I think I’ll get the cafe au lait,” Ingrid finally decided. They weren’t working today so they didn’t need the caffeine boost from their usual order of a double espresso, but they still wanted the coffee flavour. 

“Okay, I'll order. Do you want to grab us a nice table?”

Ingrid nodded and made a move to leave, but Mercedes caught their hand, pulling them back to her side for a moment. Confused, Ingrid looked up at Mercedes. Did she need something else? 

Mercedes simply pressed a gentle kiss against Ingrid’s cheek with a smile before stepping up to the counter to place their order. Dazed, Ingrid turned back to the rest of the shop, looking for a nice little spot. There was a little table tucked into the corner of the store, right where the multicoloured sunbeams from two different windows met. It sat low to the floor, its worn wooden surface had clearly seen a lot of use.

Ingrid hurried quickly over to the loveseat and nervously settled down into it, the cushions threatening to just swallow them up with how comfortable the seat was. They didn’t know why they felt so nervous about it, but it felt like this place was almost too good to be true. Mercedes appeared a few minutes later, arms ladened with a tray. In addition to their drinks, there was also a plate of cookies. 

“Hilda and Marianne send their regards,” Mercedes chirped as she sat down in the love seat next to Ingrid. Their knees bumped into each other as she got comfortable among the cushions. She handed Ingrid their drink and pushed the plate of cookies towards them.

“Hilda and Marianne?” Ingrid accepted the drink gratefully, pleased to have something to do with their hands. They were seconds away from fidgeting with the hem of their shirt. 

“Yeah, they help run the place!” Mercedes gestured and waved to the two people behind the counter. 

The pink-haired one waved back enthusiastically while the other one was significantly more shy in her greeting. 

“Oh, they look nice.” Ingrid waved back awkwardly, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“They’re super nice! They’ve worked here for as long as I can remember. Here, they gave us these cookies on the house.” Mercedes took a bite out of the cookie and hummed in delight. “I’m not sure how Marianne manages to get the perfect ratio of cookie to chocolate chip but it is truly a work of art.” 

Ingrid looked at the cookies skeptically, they knew what their favourite cookies were—any cookie that Mercedes baked. Sometimes Mercedes made gingersnaps so soft and gooey Ingrid couldn’t help but eat four of them in one sitting. They bit down into the cookie with a frown.

Okay, so maybe Mercedes was right about this cookie. This was probably the most delicious oatmeal cookie Ingrid had ever had, but they weren’t about to admit that out loud. The knowing smile that Mercedes gave them over top of her cup was all Ingrid needed to know, so they didn’t have to admit it out loud for Mercedes to understand.

“Do you like it here?” Mercedes asked after they each finished another cookie. 

Ingrid nodded slowly. It was hard not to like it here. The entire place was furnished so that it was very comfy, the quiet atmosphere of the whole store made it easy for Ingrid to lean back and just let the tension seep away from their body. 

“This place is very welcoming and lively.”

“Yeah, they do a really good job with it and there is always some other stuff going on. Book signings, lectures, little queer fairs like the one today, welcoming parties to upcoming authors and books, you name it.” Mercedes beamed, casting a brief glance around it all, clearly proud of the space she had visited so many times before. “It was my safe haven when I was coming to terms with who I was so yeah, I hope you know you’re welcome here, too.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid agreed. It felt a little bit strange to be out and about like this, usually there was a sense of anxiety prickling at the back of Ingrid’s mind that always seemed to pull them away from the moment. This time around, however, they were actually a lot more comfortable, grounded in the cozy reality of the little shop. With all the flags dancing in the small breeze that came from the open windows and the delicious smells surrounding them, Ingrid felt at ease, comfortable. The feeling cocooned the two of them in a reality of their own. One in which Ingrid was actually present and listening to a conversation because it was interesting and important to them instead of wondering about their next flight and what sort of stupid joke the crew would make whenever they walked around before boarding. 

Long after their drinks ran dry and the cookies were just crumbs on the plate, they took a brief moment to browse through the books and trinkets on the shelves and tables before leaving. Ingrid resisted at first, the late afternoon sun had grown lazy in the sky—kind of how Ingrid felt at the moment. The warmth of this newly found safe haven soothed their weary nerves and tired mind but they knew that there was a whole other world out there that they had to return to.

Mercedes tugged them along, insisting they at least look, perhaps even buy a little souvenir to remind Ingrid of their lovely little date. They browsed through shelves of different titles, and tables of various accessories. It wasn’t until they made their way over to the little event taking place on the other side of the shop that Ingrid found something that made their eyes light up. The tables held what Ingrid had first thought of as trinkets but were actually offering everything from pendants with small flags, rings, bracelets and some statues of cute animals holding the flags. too. But those weren’t the items that caught their eye.

Before Ingrid said anything further, Mercedes had scooped up the very item that Ingrid had been looking at and bought it without a second thought. Smiling, Mercedes drew Ingrid close, close enough that Ingrid could feel her breath ghost over their cheekbones. Originally they thought that Mercedes was going to kiss them again but with deft motions, Mercedes pinned the new collar chain to the corners of Ingrid’s shirt collar. She smoothed the fabric out again and adjusted the new accessory so that it sat just right. Then she kissed Ingrid again.

Still smiling, the two of them left the shop, hand in hand. The collar chain that Ingrid now wore proudly was made of silver, glistening under the setting sun as they took off down the street. The breeze was chillier than before, gently lifting the small wings that sat just above two silver circles. 

Engraved in black on each of the circles, shining even more than the feathers surrounding them, were “they” and “them.”

* * *

“Mercie, how did you know these were my favorite?!” Ingrid asked as they gently picked up a still-warm miniature lemon tart. A dozen of the tiny pastries were arranged on a floral plate, covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar. The sweet pastry flaked apart in Ingrid’s mouth as they took a bite, the tart lemon curd offering a refreshing contrast.

Mercedes smiled, reminding Ingrid of the sun. “They’re one of my favorites to make, aside from custard tarts, gingersnaps, and peach sorbet.” 

Ingrid looked around Mercedes’s kitchen as they finished a second lemon tart. It was obviously the kitchen of a baker: jars of fruit preserves and a butter crock sat on the counter, ready for whenever Mercedes pulled some fresh bread or scones out of the oven. A handful of colorful oven mitts hung from a hook above the stove. The air smelled of fresh pastry. But there was something about it that was so distinctly Mercedes, a certain charm that left Ingrid in a state of wonder. When they looked closer, there were strips of pictures from a photo booth pinned to the fridge, small knick knacks of painted wooden birds carefully arranged on the windowsill; even the apron she wore was a cool blue that matched the sky in her eyes.

“Your neighbors are really lucky, getting to smell all the good things you bake,” Ingrid commented with a smile. Frankly, Ingrid found themself  _ luckier _ that they shared this space with her, chewing happily on a tart and feeling at ease. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve set off the fire alarms a couple of times because I’ve forgotten that I had a pie crust in the oven.” Mercedes waved them off, but there was an unmistakable rosy hue on her cheeks. It made Ingrid laugh lightly along with her at the thought—Mercedes fretting about the kitchen and explaining to the fire department what had happened.

As the two chatted in the sun-warmed kitchen, Ingrid absentmindedly fixed their hair, pinning loose strands back into place in the braid that fell down their back. Mercedes walked over to help them, gently combing her fingers through the blonde strands and winding them back into place. Ingrid melted into the touch but a sigh of frustration escaped their lips. Mercedes looked at them curiously, her blue eyes welcoming, and it made the words easier to say. “These shorter pieces frustrate me so much. They never want to stay in place, but I don’t know what else to do with my hair. Too many styles are more feminine than I want to wear.”

Mercedes tilted her head, her pink lips pouting in thought. “What if you cut it?”

“My father would kill me if he were to see me with short hair.” Ingrid sighed, leaning their head in their palm against the table in defeat. Mercedes poked their cheek and Ingrid blinked up at her, being greeted with a reassuring smile that made Ingrid hopeful. It’s useless really because of who their father was, there wasn’t a chance in the world they could cut their hair without repercussions. But Mercedes had a knack for making Ingrid believe in things. 

“It wouldn’t have to be short,” replied Mercedes, “but maybe a new style, something not so feminine, would be a possibility. If you don’t like it, hair grows back! I’ve been thinking of changing up my hair, too.”

Mercedes’s braid wound around her own fingers and Ingrid thought to themself that they loved her just as she was, whether she changed her hair or not. They laugh quietly to themself—they supposed that was the entire point, Mercedes loving them for who they were, no matter what. 

Ingrid considered it for a moment. The thought of their head being lighter, of looking in the mirror and seeing a hairstyle that matched how they felt, made them feel giddy. 

“Yes. Absolutely. Let’s do it!” Ingrid cheered and Mercedes looked back at them, amused. Ingrid cleared their throat from the slightly embarrassing outburst and looked at Mercedes hopefully. “You’ll be with me, right?”

Mercedes cupped their cheek gently and kissed the crown of their blonde tresses. “Always.”

* * *

Ingrid and Mercedes pulled up to the salon, the heat of the sun warming Ingrid’s face.  _ Come on, _ they thought,  _ you can do this. It’s just a haircut, and it’ll grow back if it isn’t what you want. _ They took a few breaths, then held the hand that Mercedes had offered them and strode towards the salon door.

As the couple stepped into the salon, a small bell above the door jingled, alerting the stylists to a new arrival. A very tall and poised man with purple hair greeted them.

“Welcome to Hair-reg Mach Salon, I’m Lorenz, he/him pronouns, what are you looking to have done today?” the purple-haired man asked them. He seemed very aloof, not prone to large displays of emotion, but very well-dressed with an elegant demeanor.

Mercedes smiled at the stylist, explaining in her sweet voice, “We both would like haircuts. I’m thinking something about shoulder-length, and my partner is thinking something fairly short as well. Chin-length, perhaps?”

“Perfect, and what are your names and pronouns?”

Ingrid played with the chain at their collar and replied, “I’m Ingrid, they/them pronouns for me. Her name is Mercedes, she uses she/her pronouns.”

The two followed Lorenz and sat at the chairs he had motioned to. Lorenz started prepping his tools by Mercedes’s chair, and a stylist with messy lilac hair began to set up by Ingrid.

“The name’s Yuri. They/them pronouns, please. I see you use them as well?” they stated, gesturing at Ingrid’s new jewelry.

The knot in Ingrid’s stomach released a bit at the acknowledgement of their pronouns. “Yes, I’m Ingrid.”

“Good to meet you. What’s the plan for your hair today?”

As Ingrid began to explain what they had in mind, they could see that Yuri understood perfectly what they meant. Yuri had been there, Ingrid could tell; they had experimented with different hairstyles and clothing and makeup before landing on their current look. 

Ingrid watched Yuri in the mirror as they started to section off blonde pieces of hair. They seemed so at ease, so confident in who they were. Their shimmering lilac eyeshadow perfectly matched their hair, and they had even painted their nails with the light purple color.

_ I will feel that way. I will be that at home in my body, _ Ingrid thought,  _ I will make what’s outside match how I feel inside. I can be exactly who I know I am. _

They stole a glance at Mercedes in the next chair over. “Your hair is such a perfect texture.” Ingrid overheard Lorenz tell her. “You could literally rock any style and any color. I’m so jealous.” Mercedes looked over at Ingrid and smiled, her affection a beam of sunshine and support that Ingrid could feel in their soul. Ingrid smiled back, thankful that Mercedes had decided to get a haircut, too. It felt nice to go through something so big together.

“How long have you been working here?” Ingrid asked Yuri.

Yuri looked at Ingrid in the mirror, accepting their offer of small talk. “I’ve been a stylist for five years now, but I’ve been here for three. It’s nice to have a place where I feel like I belong. The other stylists and the clients make me feel at home, and I have no plans of going anywhere soon, in case you needed a regular stylist.”

Ingrid nodded their acceptance, the last of their anxiety fading away. Yuri looked a bit annoyed and held their head still, stopping Ingrid from nodding any more. 

“Sorry.” Ingrid blushed. Yuri smirked and waved it away.

A while later, after lots of cut blonde strands had been swept up from the floor, Ingrid and Mercedes stood at the front counter to pay. As Lorenz rang them up, he smiled at the two of them. “You two are cute. I simply adore those cuts on you both. Come back, yeah?”

He was right to think that: Ingrid and Mercedes were both beaming. Mercedes had cut off her long braid, leaving a silky shoulder-length cut that fell perfectly around her expressive features. Ingrid ran their fingers through it, smiling at their girlfriend as she smiled right back.

Ingrid was glowing. They felt like they could fly. All of the weight that they had held in their neck and shoulders had disappeared along with the long blonde hair. When they had looked in the mirror for the first time after Yuri finished the cut, Ingrid felt a wave of relief from a tension they didn’t know they had been holding. As Yuri showed Ingrid how to style their hair, putting this product here and brushing that part this way, Ingrid began to feel at home. By the time Yuri was finished, Ingrid was near tears, a gigantic smile stretching across their face. 

_ There you are,  _ Ingrid thought. _ I knew I would find you. _

“So do you like them? Our haircuts?” asked Mercedes, holding Ingrid’s hands in her own as she bounced on her toes.

“They’re perfect.” Ingrid smiled back, pulling their girlfriend close and kissing her softly. “Today has been perfect. One question: are there any more of those lemon tarts at your apartment?” 

* * *

The message had come out of nowhere on one of Ingrid’s free days. Although it wasn’t as if they avoided reading anything that came from their parents they surely weren’t the first thing Ingrid saw whenever notifications popped up. Usually they would get ignored for a few hours, sometimes a few days depending on what was going on in their life, and then when they finally  _ did  _ get to the text there would be a little complaint or another as to what had taken them so long.

That was how things usually went, how they had gone on for the last couple of years in their relationship dynamics. That was familiar and soothing, a part of their life just as the blue skies which they had claimed as their own.

So even Ingrid wouldn’t be able to explain why this time they had looked at the message right away instead of keeping it out of mind for a few moments. They had just landed back in Fhirdiad after an international flight from Sreng—their first—and although it wasn’t really a long one, it had left them tense and weary due to the extra attention they had paid to everything. As always they allowed themself a deep breath and a long sigh the moment the plane landed and the passengers started lining up to exit, their excited chattering and remarks about the trip a welcome background noise after hours spent in silence, with no one but their copilot to talk to.

That was when they picked up their phone, beaming at the thought of seeing a welcome message from Mercie and maybe something else from their friends, too. Only to narrow their emerald eyes in a frown once they saw the message notification from their parents right underneath Mercedes’s, the air escaping their lungs at the words they saw on the screen.

“Ingrid, there are urgent, pressing matters we need to discuss,” the text read—they could almost hear their father’s voice saying it, the words soft but hiding a menacing tone underneath. 

They knew better than to think this was actually something as huge or important as their parents tried to make it sound. Ingrid could count on one hand how many times such matters were real emergencies, something so urgent they should let go of everything to see what needed their attention back at home. Even so, it was better to deal with that as soon as they could—they had a date with Mercedes to look forward to and the possibility of being awarded longer international flights if their superiors thought their performance on this one had been acceptable.

They knew better than to hope, but at the same time it was a preferable prospect to think about than whatever it was their parents had to tell them on that fine Monday evening. 

The skies which greeted Ingrid once they set foot outside of the airport were vast and starry, a thousand figments of hope shining back at them, guiding their way back to a place that they would rather not visit but did so anyway because of a sense of duty. The city was alight with activity as well, people leaving work for the day and meeting their loved ones, finding the refuge of their homes. So it was ironic to Ingrid that even if they were making the same way back, from work to a place that they had been forced to call home for years, the feeling within their chest was one of apprehension and not relief, their heart fluttering nervously with flimsy wings which weren’t as sturdy or beautiful as the ones that made up their collar chain.

They had first kept the gift from Mercedes in their pocket while wearing the pilot’s uniform as a way to respect tradition, then gave up hiding and proudly displayed it over the deep blues of their attire. The amulet would calm them whenever something or another at work or life in general had become too stressful; one touch of the cool silver enough to remind them that it would be ok. That they weren’t alone and there were people who looked after them, who stood up for them when necessary.

Who wanted the best for them and knew that only Ingrid would be able to tell what that best was supposed to be.

It was a sharp contrast, then, to think about it, about Mercedes’s love and how it uplifted and encouraged them, and see quite the opposite happening once they arrived at the house they had grown up in and found it quite unchanged, a reflection of the people who still resided in there. They pushed open the door, still equipped with a key after so many years of living on their own. The accusation was thrown at them the moment they stepped in.

“You have to change careers.” 

The statement was a cutting gale, a rush of chilly air that left them breathless for the first few seconds. The voice came from the archway that led to their father’s office. The words shouldn’t have surprised Ingrid the way they did; they were facing their father in his little study that, although packed with books, was kept closed to the winds of change and new ideas that could and did move the outside world. They were facing the past, the days and nights spent indoors learning to be a housewife and being told that they should always look and act a certain way to make people desire them, want them, deem them worthy of being called a spouse.

That flying planes wasn’t something that they should ever dream about, it wasn’t possible when all their time would be dedicated to having children and keeping a home. 

That their dreams and ambitions paled when put into perspective, when the grand scheme of things and the fact that the Galatea’s relied totally on them to have a future meant their silly fantasies of being close to the sky, to the sun and the moon above were nothing more than that. Silly dreams to help them fall asleep during childhood, a flight of fancy for all the early mornings spent in church. 

It could and would never be their reality, not if their parents and the future of their family could have any say on it.

“Excuse me?” Their tone was a mirror of his, cold and detached even though their heart hammered inside their chest and their fingers instinctively went to the amulet on their collar.

Feeling each and every feather that made up the wings helped Ingrid recall that afternoon at the coffee shop-bookstore and they returned for snacks, books and more events. 

“You heard me correctly,” he went on, face stern, voice gaining an edge at the sight of them, of the defiance that was already so clear in their uniform and all that it represented.

After taking a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh that was more condescending than annoyed, he launched on a rant about how the circumstances had changed. 

Ingrid let his words breeze by them, carried away by warm winds. His words  _ should  _ have cut deep, the chill  _ should  _ have set in, but Ingrid grasped the amulet around their neck, letting the feeling of its hard edges digging against their fingers ground them. As much as Ingrid longed to be in the air, they knew that the ground was also a necessary part of flight. 

Solid ground let them lift into the air and Ingrid let the shape of the amulet in their hand remind them of where they stood. They had built enough of a runway beneath their own two feet with the time that they had spent with Mercedes, and even on their own, outside of these four walls and a door that their father called home but really was a scrapyard where dreams were sent to die, planes stripped of their engines and wings sold for pennies. Ingrid’s father wanted a pretty plane to sit on display in a hanger, never to fly again. 

“And you cut your hair! You’re going to have to let that grow out again, no decent man is going to want a wife with hair like that.”

Ingrid frowned at his words. They quite liked their new hair cut. It felt light and freeing.

“Stop frowning! How many times must I tell you to smile? I set everything up for you already. You just need to hand in your two weeks notice and everything will be all set.”

The gaze that Ingrid fixed him with was nothing short of cold.

“No.”

It felt liberating to say those words at last to their father.

“Excuse me?” The look of shock on his face was so satisfying to see. Ingrid could see it morphing into one of anger, they had seen it countless times before.

“You’re excused.” Ingrid sniped back. “I can see that you have called me here to spout off more garbage. Next time, don’t bother.”

Ingrid didn’t know what was driving them to say the words, the most they had ever done was utter similar ones in a mock-confrontation while Mercedes sat next to them, watching as they typed out the harsh response before deleting them and relenting. They always filtered those words, never letting them reach their father’s ears. 

“You watch your tone!” It was clear that their father didn’t know what to do with the sudden change in their response. He could wave his finger in their face all he liked, but the hardened determination in Ingrid’s eyes was far stronger than anything he could throw at them. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you know this is for the good of the family. Who have you been hanging around? Who’s been filling your mind with such immaturity?”

Anger flashed in Ingrid’s eyes, they thought of all the times that Mercedes had built them up, supporting them to be who they were proud to be. Ingrid was that person now, maybe they always had been, but now, more confident than ever—Ingrid was Ingrid. “Nobody is filling my mind with anything. Don’t give me that bullshit.  _ Good of the family _ . Have you ever cared about me? About what  _ I _ want? Am I not a part of your family,  _ Father _ ?”

“What is good for the family is good for y—”

“Save it,” Ingrid snapped. “This is not a family I will have any part of so save your little song and dance for someone who will actually fall for your little con.” They turned sharply on their heel and walked out of the study. “Don’t contact me again if you’re just going to try to boss me around.” 

Whatever else their father had to say was lost when the study door slammed behind Ingrid, the entire house seemed to shake with that impact as if something in its very foundation had finally come loose. Ingrid resisted the urge to sprint through the house—no, they would walk out of the prison that they had once called home with their head held high and unafraid. 

Nobody ran after them, chasing them down with threats and lies and harsh words only meant to tear them down. The house echoed loudly with the sound of their footsteps and Ingrid practically flew into their car, blood still pounding in their ears, anger burning hot in their veins. 

Their father stood in the window of the study, looking down over them. His expression was furious, there was a phone in his hand and Ingrid knew that he was undoubtedly up to something, but they couldn’t bring themself to care. This wasn’t their family anymore, they had Mercedes, they had a whole life ahead of them on the horizon.

Ingrid pulled out onto the street and began the drive home. 

Their home.

**Author's Note:**

> HI KUWO SNENPAIIIIIIII HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! YOU'RE SO OLD NOW WAHAHAHAHA PLEASE EAT LOTS OF CAKE AND FOOD AND PAT LIMA. I appreciate your existence and I love writing things with you!!! LOVE UWU ((donde esta la bibliotecha)) --Reun
> 
> Kuro-senpai!! Happy birthday and thank you for being such a wonderful friend and a writer who I look up to immensely! Continue being the most feral senpai that we love and keep writing your beautiful poetry <3 --Molls
> 
> Feliz cumple, Kuro! Espero que tengas un dia tan increible como tu, mi amigue! --Amelia
> 
> Kuwuro senpaaaaaai chan uwu! Feliz birthday and a very feral day to you. Muchas gracias for being the best senpai ever and I hope you know your palabras have made my dias many many times. Você é incredible and one hell of a writer omg. Thank you for everything and keep being amazing! --Leeeeenah
> 
> KURO MI AMORE, MI COMRADE, MY BITCH WHO FIGHTS BEARS WITH ME IN THE FOREST. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I love writing, gaming, and watching animes and screaming about them with you! I hope you have the best day SENPAI. <3 --Moni


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